


This Heat Turns Everything Into A Chore

by berlynn_wohl



Series: The Hiddlebatch Series [6]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Power Outage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3257918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The power goes out during a heatwave. Hardships include chocolate Hobnobs that melt on your fingers and it being too hot to shag properly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Heat Turns Everything Into A Chore

Having opened his eyes for only a second, Tom could determine that it was probably around six. Light peeked in through the closed blinds, but the level of street noise was still fairly low. Aside from a few cars, and a siren in the distance, it was quiet. 

Quiet. Why was it quiet? The room should have been filled with the hum of his little portable air conditioner. With a sigh, Tom reached over to pick up his mobile from the bedside table, to see what time it actually was. There was a message on the screen, about a low battery. But he’d plugged it in – 

Ah. The power had gone out. Well, that was fantastic. His air conditioner, an uncommon small appliance in London, had been the reason he'd invited Benedict to spend this heat wave with him. Now they were going to roast alive together. How romantic. 

Benedict was still asleep next to him, turned away, naked and on top of the covers. Tom didn't dare disturb him. He'd been sleeping poorly in the heat, so he deserved to catch up a bit. Tom put his mobile on silent (for the five minutes that it would continue to function, he grudgingly admitted), gathered up his clothes, and snuck into the other room to dress. 

He unplugged several things from the mains, so that the flat wouldn’t blow up when the power came back on. He checked that his torch was still in working order, in case there would be no lights that night. It worked fine. He was hungry, which was a problem. His stove was electric, so he couldn't heat anything, and he didn't want to open his refrigerator, not knowing for how long the power had been out, or would be out, and not wanting to accelerate the spoilage of the food inside by letting the cold escape. But he had a guest to feed. _Argh._ Well, it wasn't so hot out, yet. He could pop down to the shops and pick up a few non-perishables to see them through. 

Sainsbury's was nearer but it was deserted and dark inside. Further down the street was a 24-hour Tesco that must have had a generator, because they were open, and doing a brisk business, even this early in the day. Tom pushed through the crowd and managed to pluck a few things off the shelves that hadn't yet been pillaged by panicking citizens; it was all junk food, but better crisps and sweets in your belly than eggs Florentine that remained defiantly in the fridge. And by some stroke of luck, there was one bag of ice left. He had a little ice chest in the flat; he could put the ice in so they could have cold drinks until the power came back on. 

He re-entered the flat quietly, so as not to wake Benedict. The first thing he did once he'd closed the door behind him was to strip naked; even now, it was 28 degrees in the flat, too hot for clothes. He put the ice and some bottles of water in the little chest, then drank half a bottle whilst he ate some chocolate Hobnobs, which melted on his fingers. (“Breakfast of champions,” he muttered to himself.) He left the rest of the food on the counter for Benedict to pick through when he woke up. In the meantime, he had a book by his bed that was, in light of the power outage and the heat, the most appealing way he could think of to spend the day. 

Tom crept silently into the bedroom only to find Benedict awake, and not merely awake, but spread face up across the bed, his half-erect penis leaning toward one jutting hipbone. One arm was splayed at his side, the other hand rested on his belly, which was flat but not muscled these days. A stray curl stuck damply to his forehead. 

He mumbled, “Morning,” and then, with the slightest nod downwards and a lift of one eyebrow, said, “Are you here to help me take care of this?” 

Tom crossed his arms and leaned on the doorway. “I dunno, seems risky,” he said with a casual air. “If I pay too much attention to your erection, I might get one of my own, and then where would we be?” 

“Mmm, fair point. Especially when this heat turns everything into a chore.” 

Tom's hands fell to his sides as he sauntered towards the bed. “It would be a shame if I sucked you off, and then you had to suck me off.” 

“God, yes,” Benedict muttered, letting his head loll to the side, away from Tom. “Who wants a hot drink on a hot day.” 

“And all the touching.” Tom sat himself on the corner of the bed. “Skin-to-skin contact. Sharing body heat.” 

“It would be _agonizing_.” Benedict's hand slid from his belly to the mattress, as though the heat were so oppressive, it was actually increasing the gravity in the room. “That kid of exertion encourages perspiration,” he remarked, slowly. “Sweat too much, and you get dehydrated. The dehydration causes lethargy.” 

Tom nodded, with a thousand-yard-stare. “And in that condition, all we'd want to do is lie in bed all day, sticking to each other’s sweaty bodies.” 

“Mmm.” 

For several seconds, they shared a thick silence, during which Tom was sure he could feel the day’s increasing heat creeping in between the slats of the blinds. 

“I could lie over on this side and we could just watch each other have a wank,” he suggested. 

Benedict replied cheerily, “Okay.” 

At first, Tom lay side-by-side with Benedict, but after a moment's thought, he reversed himself, so that they were head-to-toe, his feet touching the headboard. 

“Kind of like seeing it from this angle,” he explained. “Makes your cock look bigger.” 

“It's plenty big,” Benedict sneered. 

“Relax, it wasn't a criticism.” 

They went to work, each keeping their hands to themselves, mostly silent. Tom watched the way Benedict’s little finger strayed on the down-stroke to tease his balls a little bit, then wondered if Benedict noticed that he began to imitate this technique. But no one said anything. For quite some time, it was all slightly elevated respiratory rates and the soft, wet sounds of their foreskins being pushed over trickles of pre-come. 

Finally, Tom whinged, “What's taking you so long?” 

“What's taking _you_ so long?” Benedict snapped. 

“I want to watch you come, and that'll get me off.” 

“That was _my_ plan.” 

“Well, we can't _both_ come first.” 

Benedict thought on this. “How about you give me a little dirty talk, and in return you can watch me come first.” 

“Deal. Starting now?” 

“No, starting on the first bank holiday after the next full moon. Yes, starting now!” 

“Okay, calm down, you've just put me on the spot is all. Okay, um...” Tom slowly began to recite a litany of filthy acts, some of which seemed really rather physically demanding, which he claimed to want to perform with, on, or in the general direction of Benedict, and all in the same night, judging by the way he was listing them. The problem was, the pressure to deliver this sort of material had made him nervous, and to break the tension he’d decided to do the whole list in Matthew McConaughey’s distinctive drawl, complete with an “alright alright alright” every time a change of position would be required. Benedict was laughing so hard, by the time Tom made it to speculating about having two limbs wrapped round Benedict, one flat on the floor, and the fourth pressed up against the bureau for leverage, Benedict's stomach muscles ached and he had lost his erection. 

“Please stop,” he wheezed. “Please, just shut the fuck up.” 

“Yew want we should jest—I mean,” Tom cleared his throat. “Would you prefer that we get in the shower instead, and just toss each other off in there?” 

If it was possible to roll off the bed in a relieved manner, Benedict did it then. “Christ, why didn't we think of that before?” 

Tom seemed hurt. “But then I wouldn't have had the opportunity to share that with you. I've been practicing that one since the Oscars.” 

“God help me now, if I meet that man. I'll either giggle or get a hard-on, or both.” 

“You worry too much,” Tom said, and followed Benedict to the shower.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on a set of prompts I got from my followers on Tumblr as part of a fic-fest. I mixed up all the prompts and wrote the results. The prompts for this fic were as follows:
> 
> schnattergans: It all starts with a shopping trip.  
> izzybutt: And then suddenly there’s a power outage.  
> thehats: There’s a great deal of false leads.  
> battleangel25: But the important thing is that the story is very courteous and antique. 
> 
> (Okay, maybe it wasn’t so antique, but wasn’t there a lot of courtesy?)


End file.
